Adora (26 page)

“We will have other sons, beauty.”

Catching his hand, she held it to her heart. “I am selfish, my darling, for he was your son too. Yes! We will have other sons! Strong sons! And we are blessed in having an outrageously beautiful daughter.”

“If we are to have sons,” he said seriously, “you must stop nursing our daughter, beauty.”

Adora looked rueful. “She is too young to be weaned, Alexander.”

“Then get her a wetnurse. If you look carefully you can find a healthy young woman whose milk is fresh and wholesome. You spoil Ariadne. And,” he added plaintively, “I should like to be spoiled too.”

Adora laughed. But realizing his sincerity, she promised, “When you return from Trebizond Ariadne will have a wetnurse, my lord, and you will have your wife back again.” Then she asked, “Why must you go
again
, Alexander?”

“Because, beauty,” he explained patiently, “my uncle’s last message says that the last of the caravans from the East have arrived and are being transferred to the waiting ships. I must go to Trebizond as a matter of courtesy, and personally escort these ships back to Mesembria. Think of it, Adora! Those rich cargos are ours! Silks! Spices! Jewels! Slaves! Rare and exotic animals! Constaninople will pay dearly for these things. But this one time I must go or else those merchants may think I do not value them.”

“Go then,” she sighed, resigned. “But hurry back.”

“It will not be as long as the last time, beauty. Just long enough to sail to Trebizond, fête the merchants, and return to Mesembria. A month at the most, with favorable winds.”

“Take Zeno with you, Alexander. Ever since that poor servant girl was found at the back gate of the palace so hideously murdered he has been very nervous. Perhaps the sea voyage will soothe him.”

Alexander nodded. “I cannot understand why anyone would do something so horrible to a person of such little importance. Murder is one thing, but the terrible way in which the girl was mutilated and blinded—I was sickened by it. I think what frightened Zeno so badly was the fact that the girl was called Anna, like his wife. Yes. I will take him with me. Perhaps by the time we return his nerves will be sound again.”

That night they made love tenderly and slowly. When morning came Adora went with her husband to their daughter’s nursery and watched fondly as he bid the baby goodbye. He playfully nibbled at the little girl’s toes, eliciting delighted giggles. Picking her up, he inquired, “And what shall the mighty despot of Mesembria bring to the fairest of creatures, his princess Ariadne? Perhaps a porcelain bowl from Cathay filled with rare Persian tulips the color of your eyes? Or a carved golden goblet brimming over with Indian pearls that match your skin?”

“Da!” chortled the baby triumphantly. Then she cooed softly at her father. Adora’s heart contracted at the sight of the two identical golden heads pressed together. The only part of her in Ariadne was the color of the little girl’s eyes. Everything else, including the expression in those eyes, was Alexander.

Alexander kissed his daughter tenderly and then they left her to her nurse. Husband and wife went out to where the barge awaited them.

“Say goodbye to me here, beauty. If you come to the ship with me I shall not want to let you go.”

“Let me come this time!” she suddenly begged impulsively. “Should we not return, Mesembria has another Heracles to rule it.”

“But an heiress, beauty, not an heir. You must stay and protect our daughter. Should I not return, would you trust her fate to strangers?”

“No,” she replied sadly, “but promise me that after this voyage you will
never
leave me again.”

“I promise, beauty,” he answered her. Bending, he found her lips. Her arms slipped around his neck and she molded her body to his. As they kissed she felt tears rise unbidden to dampen and prick her closed eyes. Sensing her tears, he kissed her eyelids. “No, beauty, don’t weep. I will be home before you know it.” Then, tearing himself from her grasp, he leapt to the barge. It pulled away from the palace quay and toward the waiting galley in the harbor.

That afternoon Ariadne became feverish and fretful. Adora, Anna, and the baby’s nurse took turns sitting by the child’s cradle all night. The following morning the little princess’s face and body were covered in a mass of red spots, and she wailed plaintively. Her tiny fists covered her eyes to shield them from the sunlight. The doctors came in their long black robes to poke at the child and examine her urine.

“Smallpox?” whispered Adora fearfully.

“No, my lady. You may rest assured it is not the pox, but merely a childish complaint from which the lady Ariadne will undoubtedly recover.”

“Undoubtedly? You are not
sure
?”

“Highness, occasionally children expire from this spotted fever, but they are children of the poor, not well-cared-for babies like this one. It is very rare for a child of the privileged to die from this malady. Keep the room dark, for light bothers the eyes in this illness. See that the princess takes plenty of liquids. In a few days’ time all will be well.”

But all was not well, and Ariadne did not seem to respond to the prescribed treatment. She grew too weak to nurse and Adora, forcing the milk from her breasts, spoonfed it into her child’s mouth. Some of it got down Ariadne’s throat, but most of it drizzled out the side of her mouth. Adora never left her daughter‘s side.

Then, finally, Ariadne showed some improvement, and Anna was able to get Adora to rest. Exhausted, she slept around the clock.

Adora threw herself into a frenzy of work. But despite the strenuous schedule she set for herself she still had trouble sleeping at night. It was lonely in the great bed without Alexander.

A week passed. And then on the eighth day after Alexander’s departure for Trebizond, the dawn rose to reveal the royal ship sailing back into the palace harbor.

Anna frantically shook her mistress awake. “My princess! My princess! The prince’s ship has returned!”

Adora was instantly awake and off the bed, barely waiting for the green silk robe Anna helped her into. Barefoot, her long dark hair streaming behind her, she ran through the gardens and down to the beach below just in time to meet the ship’s little boat. There were three people in it; a sailor who rowed, the ship’s captain, and Zeno. The boat slid up onto the beach.

“What is the matter?” demanded Adora. “Where is my lord Alexander? Why have you returned?”

The captain and Zeno climbed from the boat. Zeno was pale, stooped. He looked yellow and very ill. The captain was somber.

Adora was becoming frightened. “Where is my lord Alexander?” she repeated.

Zeno began to weep and fell to his knees at her feet. Adora felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. She looked to the captain. His eyes were filled with tears.

“My lord Alexander…?” she whispered.

“Dead.” The word came out cold and hard. “Ah, God, my princess! I should sooner be dead myself than bring you this news!”

Theadora looked at him hard and slowly the terrible comprehension filled her eyes. Zeno whimpered at her feet. “Dead?” she said. Slowly turning away, she crumpled to the beach. “No! Not dead! Not dead!”

Feeling a great deal older than his years the captain lifted the woman. She was now unconscious. He carried her into the palace to her frantic servants, then delivered the tragic news to the chamberlain.

Basil immediately called a meeting of the royal council. The stunned councilors decided to ask their queen, when she had recovered, if she would remain as their ruler. Theadora Cantacuzene had shown the Mesembrians that she was truly one of them, and they far preferred a known ruler, even a female, to a strange, foreign prince.

In the great bed the queen of Mesembria lay unconscious, watched over by her women. Assured that Adora would not yet waken, Anna slipped from the room to confront her husband. There was more to this than met the eye. She knew Zeno well. His grief was more than simple grief. He lay upon the bed in their room, staring at the ceiling with sightless eyes. Firmly she closed the door, sat next to him, and spoke. “What have you done, my husband?” she asked him quietly.

“I had to, Anna! She knew about our Marie. She said she would have you executed, and she described how they would do it! I couldn’t let that happen. I had to kill him for her!”

“Who, my husband? For whom did you do this terrible thing?”

“The empress Helena.”

“Tell me everything, Zeno, my love. Tell me now.”

She listened as her husband poured out his story When he had finished, she shook her head sadly. “Oh, Zeno, we are little people. Unimportant in the eyes of God and our fellow man. Prince Alexander was a great man. Better we had died instead of the prince. And all because of a wicked woman’s envy. May God forgive you, Zeno, for I never shall.”

“I did it to save you, Anna!”

“Save me? From what? Death? We must all die eventually, Zeno. I do not fear death. Far more do I fear having to live side by side with the princess, knowing what I do. Oh, my husband!
Had you only had the wit to tell the prince when that evil creature approached you! He would have protected us, and been on his guard against her. Now he is needlessly dead, and who will protect you from the empress’s assassin? She must dispose of you, for only you can connect her with this terrible deed.” Anna stood up. “I must return to my princess. She is still unconscious.” And without even a backward glance at her husband, Anna left the room.

Several hours later the prince’s manservant, Zeno, was found in the gardens, hanging from a tree.

“He loved his lord deeply,” declared the widow. “He has chosen to follow him in death rather than remain without him. I would do the same for the princess.”

For two days Theadora lay unconscious on her bed while the royal council planned the state funeral. They feared they might have to bury Alexander without her presence, but on the afternoon of the second day she awoke, stared at the exhausted Anna, and whispered, “Is it true?”

“Aye, my princess.”

“How long have I been like this?”

“Two days.”

“What has been done in my illness?”

“The council has prepared for a state funeral. It is tomorrow. They have also appointed you their ruler.” Anna paused. There was no gentle way to tell her mistress the terrible thing she did not yet know, and so Anna simply gazed into the eyes of the princess and said, “I wish I had anything but this to tell you, my princess. Anything but this.”

“Not Ariadne?” murmured Adora, beginning to feel strangely numb. Anna nodded.

“It happened suddenly, at the moment the ship was spotted on the horizon.”

Adora nodded, now entirely devoid of feeling.

“I see. Thank you, Anna.” A moment later she asked, “Where is my lord?”

“His bier is in the palace audience chamber. The people have been passing through since yesterday.”

“Clear the hall. I would have a few minutes alone with my husband.”

Anna nodded and went silently out. She was worried by Theadora’s strange calm. The princess had yet to shed a tear. It was not natural.

Quickly she found Basil. “The princess has awakened from her swoon, my lord. She desires that the audience chamber be emptied so she may be alone with the prince.”

The chamberlain nodded. “It will be done immediately.”

Shortly after that Theadora walked alone to where her husband’s bier rested. She saw no one. In deference to her feelings even the guards had withdrawn. Pushing open the doors to the hail she entered the room. Alexander‘s bier had been placed in the center. The hall was filled with tall, beeswax candles that flickered in an oddly cheerful fashion. The room was cold.

Slowly Adora walked to the bier and gazed down at the body. They had dressed him in an azure-blue velvet robe, the Mesembrian arms embroidered in gold thread on the front of the robe. The robe cuffs, hem, and neckline were edged in ermine. Upon his softly curling blond hair they had placed the crown of Mesembria’s despot. On his chest was a gold chain and the city’s sapphire seal. His wedding ring was on his hand. On his feet were fine soft leather boots.

Adora viewed the body from all angles, walking slowly around the bier. What she saw convinced her firmly of the existence of a soul: for though the body was his, this was not truly Alexander. Without the spark of life this was only an empty shell, a cocoon without its butterfly.

She knelt at the prie-dieu set before the bier, but she did not pray. She spoke silently to him.
I want to be with you. It is too great a burden to bear alone. I have not even the comfort of our child
.

It is not meant to be, beauty
, came his reply.
Your fate is to follow a different path. I know that now
.

“No!” she shouted aloud. “I will not accept that fate.”

Ah, beauty
, he chided her,
why do you always struggle so hard against your fate? What is meant will be. The logic of our Greek ancestors should tell you that
.

Suddenly she began to weep. “Do not leave me, Alexander!
Please
do not leave me!”

Ah beauty, would you keep me a prisoner between the two worlds? I cannot go unless you let me. Release me from this earth of which I am no longer a part
.

“No! No!”

I love you, beauty, and if you love me you must let me go. What has been between us can never be taken away. Our story is firmly engraved in the pages of the world’s history. You will always have your memories
.

“Alexander!” It was an anguished cry.

Adora, please!
She understood the plea. Tears poured down her face, but she did not feel them. Her heart ached so painfully that she thought it would burst. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to force the words out.

“Farewell, Alexander. Farewell, my beloved husband!”

“Farewell, beauty!” She heard his voice!

“Alexander!” she screamed then, but the room was silent. “Alexander!” came back the frantic, mocking echo. Slowly, she rose from her knees.

Tomorrow they would commend to God the soul of the last Heracles to rule in Mesembria, and then she would found a new dynasty whose first son, she vowed, would be called Alexander.